


To Suffer Twice (or Maybe Never Again)

by AfternoonPigeon (DogEaredScribe)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Asexual Newt Scamander, Autistic Character, Autistic Newt Scamander, Credence Barebone Lives, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Nightmares, Obscurial Credence Barebone, Or demisexual really, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, The happy ending Credence deserves, This is just a mess, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, eventually, graphic descriptions of past abuse, gross misuse of italics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-10 01:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11116593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DogEaredScribe/pseuds/AfternoonPigeon
Summary: Newt had imagined, more than once, a better end to things, a way for Credence to survive. He had imagined everything from fighting to running to talking his way out, which he never had been good at. But he had never, not once, imaginedthis.Temporary hiatus, I'm sorry!!! uwu





	1. In the Months that Followed

**Author's Note:**

> I've not really put much thought into this. I'm more of a 'plan it as you write it' kind of author. As such, I will be adding tags as they come up; the ones that are there already are just the ones I have somewhat planned.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: none, I think

Newt had imagined, more than once, a better ending to the story. A way that things could have all worked out. A way he could have saved Credence. He had found a few, maybe; maybe if he had actually lashed out at Graves -- no, at Grindelwald, instead of focusing on defense, but he was far too gentle a heart and he had never had the strength of will to make even a stinging hex really hurt. Maybe if he had thought to tell Tina to find a way to keep the Aurors away, bought them just a few more seconds in which to calm Credence down, but they had been so set on killing him that Newt doubted they wouldn't have done it even if he appeared fully human when they arrived. Maybe if he had brought his case with him, opened it and gathered Credence into it, but there was far, far too much risk to his animals, his _friends_ , for that to have ever been an option, really. So maybe Newt had found a few ways things might have been different, but there were never any promises and he tried hard not to feel too guilty when he gazed upon the Obscurus he kept in his case.

Part of Newt, the purely logical researcher inside him, wished he could have at least gotten the Obscurus itself out of Credence first, to study the differences between his and that of the Sudanese girl, but he thought perhaps that seemed a little cruel -- it wasn't, of course, he wanted to _help_ , to find a way to fix things, and maybe, maybe he could do that with more data, with another test subject, so that next time, next time he might actually be able to _save_ \-- Oh, but it did _seem_ cruel, so he never put it into words.

He put a lot of other things into words, though. He wrote an entire chapter on Obscurus and Obscurials, desperate to educate the world so what had happened to Credence might never happen again. He didn't have much knowledge, not much was clear about them, but what he did have, he wrote. Most of it was experiences, memories; one page was taken up entirely by a sketched image of Credence himself, his body curled within the ebb and flow of the dark and dust of the Obscurus, and Newt had been careful to make sure that the drawing showed Credence as he remembered him; not dangerous, but soft and afraid. A creature still worth trying to save.

Newt finished the book a few months after his return, and had it published after a few weeks more. It was spring before he had a copy, bound and so very strangely real, in his hands. He had received a letter a week back, one of a few that he and Tina had exchanged, asking him to please come soon, and Newt could only assume she was excited to see the book; he had told her in his last letter that it was set to print. Her letter had seemed strangely urgent, telling him of things she needed to say in person, but Newt was never good at reading between the lines, and so he had booked his ticket and sent a letter ahead, assuring her he would be on his way as soon as he was able.

It was the first of April when he stepped onto New York soil -- or, well, New York asphalt, as it was -- for the second time. He had his case at his side, the broken latch fixed and the whole thing charmed twice over not to open accidentally again. He slipped through customs with darting eyes and a nervous smile, and made his way to Tina's by memory, only getting himself lost twice. He passed the bank, giving the empty stairs a moment of solemn regard, feeling a strange blend of fondness and sorrow for the place where everything had started; he gave the subway where everything had ended a wide berth.

Newt had imagined, more than once, a better end to things, a way for Credence to survive. He had imagined everything from fighting to running to talking his way out, which he never had been good at. But he had never, not once, imagined himself stepping into Tina's apartment, shoulders damp from the evening's mist, to find the boy in question sitting, looking like a ghost of himself but so very much _alive_ , on the green armchair by the lit fireplace, staring deeply into a cup of tea as though it held the answers to every question that Newt wanted to ask.  



	2. Sorry!

Due to things in my life, including but not limited to my terrible attention span and need to work on paid commissions first, this story is on temporary hiatus! I'm sorry for everyone who was looking forward to an update; I'll continue when I can! Might be next week, might be longer. Sorry again, and thanks for your patience!


End file.
